Institutionalized v2
by Static Prose
Summary: (Chapter 2, AU, Duo POV) Real and imaginary crash together to form the world he lives in. It's not long before people realize this, and Duo Maxwell is locked away in a mental institution. Shounen-ai, language. Rewrite.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

Title: Institutionalized v.2 

Author: Jake

Pairing: 1x2

Genre: AU

Rating: R

Warnings: yaoi, violence, mental instabilities and psycho-babble, language

* * *

Author's Note: This is a rewrite of "Institutionalized." I'm doing it because I think that the story itself isn't so bad, it's just suffering from a severe lack of talent, from being written so long ago. I've been told that this story reminds people of the movie "Girl, Interrupted." My response: The story was started before I'd ever read the book or seen the movie. I began it, incredibly enough, during my second stay in a mental health facility, and many parts of it are inspired by the patients, doctors, and nurses I met there, and the setting was greatly taken from it as well.

* * *

When I was a kid, I used to have trouble seeing myself in the future. It was a strange thing, really. I couldn't picture myself as a doctor or a fireman or any other kind of profession. I couldn't look in the mirror and imagine the kind of person I'd be in the future, once I'd gotten out of my lanky, knees-and-elbows stage and moved on to being an adult.

I grew up in an orphanage. My parents died so long ago that I can't recall a shred of memory of them; a shred of time when I actually had a real family that included blood bonds instead of simply living under the same roof. I was a ghost, actually. I wasn't born in a hospital. I had no birth certificate, no social security number… nothing. My lack of family and, in a word, existence, was where the trouble started, though. At least, I think it is. People just deal with things differently, and I dealt with the fact that I had no parents and no life and lived in a stinking, poor neighborhood in a stinking, poor orphanage by bottling it up inside. And when I was asked, as a child, what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd let my imagination stare into that blank, empty place that tended to reside inside my mind, and I'd hopelessly say, "alive, I guess."

Since a fairly young age, I'd had an imaginary playmate. He lived inside my mind and occupied my imagination with extraordinary ideas. I'd even carry on conversations with him. Needless to say, I wasn't incredibly popular. My only real friend, back then, had been a boy about my age, named Solo. He didn't think it was weird that I had an imaginary friend that only lived in my mind. Solo had cancer. As time wore on, I had to watch the only friend I had slowly wither and die, before my eyes.

The day Solo died was the day that the voice in my head took a strangely unexpected turn. Even at the age of fifteen, the voice hadn't gone away, but now it was getting more insistent. It was telling me what to do. The childhood fantasies were shoved roughly aside, replaced by flashes of violence and gore, appearing before my eyes. I would see the church I called home burn to the ground. I watched Father Maxwell and Sister Helen get murdered before my very eyes.

Somehow, I'd wake up from those horrendous day dreams, and everything would be okay. Then, one day, things weren't okay. I was eating lunch with the rest of the orphans when Solo busted through the door. Everyone else went along happily eating their meals as I watched Solo's corpse—his fucking _corpse_, for God's sake—walk through the dining hall, jump up on the table, and promptly come to stand right on top of my plate, sending food everywhere.

It was only Sister Helen's calm voice that finally brought me back to reality and I realized that I'd thrown my food all over the place and screamed like a madman, curling up on the floor in a tight ball. It was then that I decided things had to stop.

I ran from the room, embarrassed and scared for my life and my sanity. Somehow, I ended up in what we called the "clinic." The church may not have been well-off, but they at least had a few fully-stocked bottles of pain killers and other various pills that I can't for the life of me remember the names of. The last thing I remember from that day was popping open a few bottles and practically drinking the contents.

And when I awoke the next day, I was scared out of my mind because I was in an incredibly unfamiliar room. There was a huge mirror to my left, a bland white wall to my right, and a fluorescent light that buzzed loudly above my head. I was lying on a thin brown mattress with no blanket or pillow, wearing nothing but a white gown with some black stains on the front. There was an IV needle in my arm, attached to nothing. Staring at the mirrors, and myself in turn, I wondered where the hell I was and how long I'd been there.

My head felt like it had been smashed in with a hammer and quickly put back in order. I stood in the small room, putting a hand to my forehead as if it would help stop the pounding. The floor was cold under my bare feet. I slowly approached the mirrors, assuming that it was a two-way and there was someone watching me on the other side. I pressed my hand to it.

I heard a loud buzz and the door to my left swung open. A tall woman with brown hair and professional-looking spectacles stood there, holding a notebook. I stepped back from the mirrors and wrapped my arms around myself, still feeling incredibly confused and, I'll admit, scared shitless.

"Duo Maxwell, my name is Doctor Taylor." I tried to stop myself from shaking. I was suddenly very cold. The woman took a few cautious steps towards me. "Why don't you have a seat so that we can talk?"

Warily glancing from her, to the bed, to the mirrors, I cautiously returned to the bed. Something inside me was nagging. A voice in the back of my head was trying to remind me what I had done, trying to tell me that I should be dead. I silently wondered if, just maybe, this was heaven.

"Duo, you've been asleep for two days." My mouth fell open. So this wasn't heaven, after all. "I imagine you're a bit disoriented."

"You can sure as hell say that again." My voice was a mere croak, a wrath of what it once was. I rubbed at my eyes irritably. The light in the room was practically blinding. I suddenly wanted to go back to sleep.

The doctor seemed unaffected by my comment. "You were taken to the hospital, and they brought you here. Do you have any idea where you are?"

I took another quick glance around the room. Absolutely nothing gave me a single hint as to where I might have been, save for the fact that there was a doctor standing in front of me, looking like she had her shit together. My first guess would have been that I was still in the hospital. "No."

"This is the Vista Mental Health Institute, Duo."

I stared at her, feeling rather unaffected about this realization. I was just so tired. "What does that mean?"

"You tried to commit suicide. You've been put in our care."

"I didn't try to kill myself," I lied, hugging my arms around my stomach and feeling suddenly sick. "I'm really tired right now, okay? Not to mention a little freaked out. I went to sleep in my home and woke up in this freaky room, and you come in here and tell me I've been put in your care. I don't even know you. And who the fuck is on the other side of that glass, watching us?"

"They're just doctors, Duo. Please calm down."

I tried to settle my nerves, struggling to lower my voice and appear calm. It wasn't easy. I felt like I could have jumped up off the bed and strangled that woman, right then and there. "Can I please just go back to sleep for a little while?"

Doctor Taylor seemed to consider it for a moment, glancing at the notebook in her hand. "I'll get someone to show you to your room." Abruptly, she left, leaving the door open just a crack. I stood from the bed and went over to it, peeking out.

A plain white hallway greeted me, and I stuck my head out to peer down the corridor. To my right was just a line of white doors, all of them closed, with a small grated window towards the top of each one. To my left was a large door with a large window, followed by a row of what appeared to be glass windows. A man stepped out the door beside me, wearing a white uniform. I frowned at him. He stared down at me.

"Follow me, please, Duo."

And just like that, I was being taken to my room. I wasn't liking the fact that I was already on a first-name basis with these people whom I didn't even know. We walked past the windows I'd seen before and I glanced inside. A few men and women were in there, all wearing white. "This is the nurse's station," the man told me. "Need anything, you talk to someone in there."

Turning a corner, the hallway spread out into a large, open room. There were chairs set along the wall and a couch in the center of it, right in front of a small television set. I caught a quick glimpse of a few people, some of them staring at me strangely. "The common room. Self-explanatory."

He gestured to the left. "Bathrooms are down there. If you need to shave, just let one of the nurses know; she'll get you a razor." He turned around to look at me. I stared at him with wide eyes. "Doesn't look like you'll be needing one."

Silently wondering if I should take that as an insult, I followed him down the hallway to our right, leaving the television room. I suppose he had a point, though. Shaving was pretty pointless. I didn't really have any facial hair, at that age.

When we reached the end of the hallway, where there was nothing more than a thick window with metal grating on the outside, the man in front of me gestured to his left. I peered inside the room. "That's yours. Take whichever bed you like. A few of your clothes are already in the dresser. We don't allow belts, shoelaces, jewelry, drawstring pants, pants or shirts with large holes in them, anything sharp, pens, pencils" he said, counting off the items on his fingers. I only half-listened to him as he continued, stepping inside the tiny room. Flicking the light on, I took a good, hard look at the room that I would occupy for however long they planned to keep me caged up. It was small, with two beds and two dressers, all of which were bolted to the floor. There was a window on the far wall, covered by blinds. I pushed them open and peered outside at the dull gray daylight. There was metal grating on this window, as well. Tapping on the glass, I had a feeling that it was more like plastic and less easy to shatter. Of course. They wouldn't want you breaking a window and cutting yourself, now would they?

"Laundry is picked up every other day. Anything you need washed, just set it outside your door. And that concludes the tour." He smiled at me—the first smile I'd seen since being here. "Enjoy your stay."

And then, just like that, he walked away. I was left alone with my thoughts, suddenly feeling very angry about the fact that I was here. I wondered who on earth could have signed me over to the care of these people.

Stepping over to the dressers, I pulled open the top drawer of the one on the left and peered inside. There was a bundle of my clothes, none of them folded, stuffed inside. I decided I'd take the left bed, seeing as how my clothes were in the matching dresser.

I sat down on the mattress, which was too thin and too hard. The blanket was an itchy blue thing that looked like old women had crocheted it in their free time. Lying on my stomach, I glanced up at the headboard. There were a few things carved into it. Names, dates, curse words, warnings about the staff. I sighed and sat back up, noticing that the IV was still in my arm.

If I had given more of a damn, I could have yanked the thing out and used it to slice my wrists open. It was, after all, a sharp needle. Instead, I just pulled it out and put it in the tiny trashcan on the floor between the dressers. I pulled the blankets back on my bed and crawled under the covers. I didn't feel like doing anything. My world had been completely taken away from me; everything I knew and loved. I felt like someone had pulled a rug out from under my feet, leaving me helpless and stunned, lying on my back. Above all, though, I felt rather angry. My freedom, most importantly, had been taken away me. Pulling the blankets over my head, I settled down into the hard bed and the thin pillow, and closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to come over me.

It seemed like I'd just fallen asleep when I heard voices. "We don't allow belts, shoelaces, jewelry, drawstring pants—"

The orderly was cut off by a fairly deep, nasal voice. "You must be new. I've been here before. I didn't need a fucking tour." Pulling my head out from under the blanket, I stared at the two people standing in the doorway. There was the same man who'd showed me to my room, and standing right next to him was a short guy, about my age, looking pissed off. The first thing I noticed was that he had bandages all over his body. The second thing was that he had what can only be described as a very intense stare.

I sat up in bed. He turned to stare at me, and then stepped into the room, slamming the door closed. In his arm was a pillowcase stuffed with something. He threw it down on the bed beside mine. I watched him dump out his clothes on the bed.

"I'm Duo," I said roughly, voice still croaking.

"Heero Yuy." He gathered up his wad of clothes, walked over to the unoccupied dresser, and stuffed them inside.

"What happened to you?" I asked, indicating the bandages on his arms and face.

He turned around and glared at me. "None of your fucking business."

I opened my mouth to spew out some biting retort when a scream interrupted me. It was coming from outside. I heard an announcement cut through the air. "Code pink, Code pink. South wing."

"What does that mean?" Heero sat down on the bed, ignoring me. I stood up and went to the door, peeking out. I stepped out into the hallway and peered into the common room. There was a girl throwing a complete fit, being hauled away by two very muscular men. They pulled her down the hallway I had originally come from, practically dragging her past the nurses' station. I stepped back into the room. "Code pink?"

"It's a thing they have. Pink means a patient is causing trouble and needs seclusion. Red means they've already hurt someone and need to be taken away immediately. And white, well, that just means all hell has broken loose." He started picking at one of the bandages on his arm, eventually pulling the tape and the gauze away from his arm. It was crusty with dried blood, and underneath was a rather large gash. He wadded up the gauze and tossed it at the trashcan. I sat back down on the bed.

"Really… what happened to you?"

Heero sighed, yanking off another bandage and revealing what appeared to be road rash on his left arm. "I got in an accident."

"I'd gathered that much."

Heero's eyes shot up to me, glaring through a mess of dark brown hair. Those eyes were an intense, magnetic dark blue. I bit my lip. "I fell over on my bike, trying to get away from the cops."

"Why were you running from the cops?" I asked, suddenly entranced.

"Would you stop asking so many fucking questions?"

I frowned, pulling my legs up under me. Then I thought better of that and went to the dresser, grabbing some clothes. I glanced over at Heero, who was still picking at his bandages, then shook my head and pulled the hospital gown off over my head. Privacy, I quickly realized, was something you couldn't have here. I pulled on some clean underwear, followed by a pair of black jeans. It was then that I noticed I still had other remnants from the hospital. There were sticky white pads stuck all over my chest, used for keeping track of my heartbeat, I surmised. I peeled them off and threw them away. There were still splotches of glue and fuzz all over my thin, bony chest. I pulled on my black t-shirt, and then I wondered where my shoes were, glancing around the room.

"You don't wear shoes unless you're outside," Heero said distractedly, not even paying attention to what I was doing. I wondered if he was psychic or something. "They wouldn't want you hanging yourself with the laces."

I rolled my eyes and left the room, dragging myself down the hallway and into the common room. A clock on the wall proudly proclaimed that it was 2:30 in the afternoon. I frowned, knowing I'd missed lunch. I was starving.

There were quite a few people sitting around the room. I hesitantly stood at the end of the hallway, watching them warily. There was a nurse sitting nearby, reading over some charts. The room was relatively quiet, save for the television. A nature show was on. I gathered up my courage and stepped into the room, practically sticking to the wall until I came to a seat in front of a small wooden table. I sat down and watched the television.

A pale, blonde guy was watching me from the sofa. He sat up and made his way over to me. He was so thin, he looked like a skeleton. His eyes had a dark rim around them. "I'm Quatre," he said cheerily, sitting in front of me.

"Duo," I replied, smiling weakly and slumping down in my seat.

"What are you in for, Duo?"

I shrugged, not really knowing, myself. "I guess it's 'cause I tried to kill myself."

Quatre waved a dismissive hand at me. "That's just what you did. Like, I'm in here because I don't eat, but it's all a mental thing, all about control. Or at least, that's what they tell me."

"In that case, I don't know. I hear voices. Sometimes I see things."

"Sounds like you're a schizoid, but I'm no doctor. Oh, hey Trowa!" Quatre waved a hand at someone behind me. I turned around to see who it was. He was tall and thin, though not as thin as Quatre. His expression didn't change when Quatre walked over to him, pulling on his shirt sleeve.

I sighed, slumping back down into my seat. A girl in front of me was talking to the television. The nurse left her seat and went to the nurses' station. A window slid open and the nurse put her clipboard on the counter. "Time for meds," she said pleasantly. Everyone quickly formed a line in front of the window as she called out their names.

It was only when she loudly called out "Duo Maxwell," that I finally stood up. I pushed through the line to get to the front. She held out a small plastic cup. Inside the cup were three pills, all tinkling around happily. I peered at them. "What are these?"

"That's your medication, dear."

I held out the cup to her. "I'm not taking these. I don't even know what they're for."

The nurse's pleasant face quickly became unpleasant. "Everyone has to take their meds, dear."

I slammed the cup down on the counter. "I'm not taking those fucking pills." I walked away from the window, feeling incredibly angry. How could they already feel the need to drug me up? I hadn't talked to a doctor yet, so there was no way they could know what was going on in my head. How could they already prescribe medication, if they didn't even know what they were prescribing it for?

I'd only taken three steps from the window when the door flew open and I was grabbed about the waist and lifted up off the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

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Title: Institutionalized v.2

Author: Jake

Pairing: 1x2

Genre: AU

Rating: R

Warnings: yaoi, violence, mental instabilities and psycho-babble, language

* * *

Something inside me snapped as I felt unfamiliar hands wrap around my waist. I was dangling in the air, pressed back against a hard, impenetrable body. I started screaming at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing through the sterile white corridors. The people around me were staring, gathered up like cattle waiting for the slaughter.

"Get your fucking hands off of me, you prick! You fucking Nazi!" I clawed at the arms holding me, not even remembering that I didn't have any fingernails—I'd bitten them all off. My fingernail nubs succeeded in nothing more than some reddened skin on the man's hairy, muscle-bulging arm. I opted for kicking and squirming. It wasn't long before my heel connected with the man's shin. He dropped me onto the floor in a disorganized pile. The other patients started screaming crazily. Apparently it wasn't often that someone actually landed a blow on one of these guys. I heard the announcement over the din. "Code red, code red. South wing." It was then that I realized I had gotten myself into some serious shit. And all over some fucking pills. Three men came out of the nurses' station, all of them wearing white and looking like, they could overturn a semi with their combined effort. I scrambled to my feet, bare skin slapping loudly at the hard floor. I was practically tackled back down, two of the men piling on top of me and threatening to crush me under their weight.

I panicked, struggling just to breath. Doctor Taylor appeared in front of me, uncapping a needle. I didn't know what was in that syringe, but I knew I wouldn't like it. "No, don't! I'll take the pills! I'll take the fucking pills!"

She wasn't listening to me. Without even the slightest hesitation, she leaned down beside me and jammed the needle into my immobile forearm. I quickly felt all of my limbs go numb. There suddenly wasn't anything left inside me to put up a fight. My head felt fuzzy and I was vaguely aware of hands grabbing me, dragging my limp-limbed body down the hallway. A door was opened in front of me, revealing white walls and a white bed, complete with restraints. I don't remember being put onto the bed.

I awoke in a daze, the room spinning crazily around me. It took a few minutes before I was finally able to focus on the wall. I followed it to the corner, where a slim black camera was hanging, staring directly at me. I glared at it for a moment before letting my head fall back on the bed. My arms and legs pulled at the unyielding restraints.

I didn't struggle long before the door opened with a buzz and Doctor Taylor stepped inside. She stared at me through her glasses. I stared at her through my bangs. "I suppose it's time we had a talk, Duo."

"Take these fucking restraints off, or I'm not saying anything."

"Please watch your language." She set her metal clipboard down at the foot of the bed, between my feet, and quickly undid the buckle on my right arm. Once free, I undid the left one myself, and then sat up to work on the ones around my ankles. She picked her clipboard back up.

"Thanks a lot," I said sarcastically, eyeing her. I was still angry about the fact that she'd stuck me with a needle. I was proud of the fact that I'd never done any sort of drug in my life. Ironic that the first time I'm in a place that's supposed to help me with my problems, they start drugging me up.

Doctor Taylor pulled a chair in from outside the room and had a seat, crossing her legs at the ankle. She pulled a pen out, flipped through a few pages, and got right down to business. "I have a few questions for you. First of all, what is your sexual orientation?"

I stared at her, eyebrows raised. "What the hell kind of a question is that?" She didn't answer—just stared at me expectantly. I sighed. In all honesty, I had no idea. I'd never really thought about it, and up until that point in my life sex was not an issue. I was a virgin and, if things went as I thought they would, I was probably going to stay that way. There was too much shit going on in my life to really give any thought to relationships. "Bisexual, I guess," I finally admitted, not really caring either way. She wouldn't believe me if I told her I was just not interested.

"Have you ever done any drugs?"

"No," I answered quickly, feeling very confident about that.

She stared at me over the rim of her glasses. I stared back. "We can't help you with your problems unless you tell the truth, Duo."

I practically gaped at her. "I've never done any drugs, okay? None! I've never even had alcohol."

She sighed and shook her head, writing something down on the paper in front of her. If she didn't believe me, that was her own problem, not mine. I was telling the truth. "Can you tell me why you tried to kill yourself?"

I lowered my head. The question seemed so simple. It was the answer that was difficult. I couldn't really tell her every single reason why, so I just said, "I've got some problems."

"Would you explain them to me, please?"

I put my hands together in my lap, staring at them. "My friend died of cancer a while back. I saw his dead body walk into the room, and it freaked me out." I felt my face heat up out of embarrassment. It wasn't every day that you admitted you saw dead people walking around.

"Any other hallucinations?"

"It wasn't a fucking hallucination," I countered, feeling angry. "If I was seeing things, that would mean I'm crazy, wouldn't it? I was eating, and Solo just walked into the room and stood on my plate. It wasn't a hallucination. He was really there. He stood on my plate, and the food went everywhere."

"Sometimes, things can seem very real to people with your condition, Duo. Do you honestly think it's possible for a deceased friend to come back from the grave and stand in your food?"

"Well, it seemed pretty fucking possible to me!"

"Duo, please calm down."

"I'm not going to calm down! You're sitting there telling me that the things I see and hear aren't real, when I damn well know they are! Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they're not there. I want to get out of this fucking room and I want to go home. Why are you people keeping me here? I haven't done anything to _you_."

Doctor Taylor stood up and took a few quick steps towards the door. "Duo, if you can't calm down, I'm going to have to sedate you again."

That got through to me. I quickly clamped my mouth shut, feeling the rage boil inside my gut. I just wanted to be let out. Somehow I knew that cooperating would get me out. I nodded mutely. She slowly returned to her seat. "You said you hear things, Duo. What do you hear?"

"Just a voice," I practically whispered. "Just a guy telling me what to do, sometimes."

"Does he have a name?"

I slumped lower in my seat. He _did_ have a title he went by, but I wasn't comfortable sharing it with her. It felt like I was violating a code of ethics or something. "Does he have a name, Duo?"

"He says he's the God of Death. Like… the Grim Reaper or something. I just call him The Voice, though."

"The God of Death? Why do you think he calls himself that?"

"I don't know," I answered. How the hell was I supposed to know what some _imaginary_ voice was thinking?

"Do you suppose that he's a part of you? Do you think you're the God of Death?"

I quickly shook my head. I wasn't crazy enough to really think that I controlled the lives of people. "Hell no. He's not a part of me. I don't have any say in what he does."

The doctor nodded, scribbling a few things down on her clipboard. She stood from her seat. "If you're ready to take your medication now, you can leave the room."

"Just tell me what it's for, and I'll take it."

"We don't tell the patients what they're diagnosed with. It tends to hinder the recovery."

"Then you're going to have to force-feed me those pills, 'cause I'm not taking them."

Doctor Taylor frowned at me. "That can be arranged."

"Look, lady, just tell me why I'm taking them, and I'll take them. It's not that difficult. It won't hinder anything."

After a moment of staring at one another, she finally relented. "They're just to help you control the voice in your head, Duo. They'll help you stay relaxed."

I couldn't help but give in with a slow, contrite nod. "Alright, I'll take the pills."

"Good for you," she said encouragingly, like I was some sort of little kid who'd agreed to eat his broccoli. I followed her to the nurses' station, where she handed me the cup I'd smashes under my hand earlier. The pills were still inside, one of them broken in half.

I dumped them into my mouth and swallowed them with the offered cup of water. The clock on the wall told me that I'd been in that room for two hours. Time certainly did pass slowly here. Settling myself down on the sofa, I attempted to focus on the television in front of me. I tried to tune out the girl, sitting next to me, who was talking back at it.

A few minutes later, the running commentary started to sound like running water. That's really the only way to describe it. I watched the television slowly melt, my eyes going wide.

Something was definitely going on, here. Standing up, I watched the entire room spin around me and then settle back down. I stumbled away from the couch, a hand to my forehead. I felt nauseous. Someone was talking to me. It sounded like Quatre, but I can't be sure. I shoved whoever it was away and tried to get back to my room, using the wall as a support. "Fucking assholes," I muttered. I'd trusted them, and this was how I was repaid. I was drugged out of my mind. I couldn't see straight.

Grabbing onto the door handle, I pushed the door to my room open and stumbled over to my bed. Heero was lying on his, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes staring up at the ceiling. I fell face-first onto my mattress, holding on for dear life. My body was turning into liquid, all of my bones disintegrating. I couldn't get my legs up on the bed. I stared at my hand. It turned into jelly before my eyes. I couldn't make it move.

"What the hell did they do to me?"

"Guess I should have warned you: can't trust the doctors."

I tried to turn my head to look at Heero, but my muscles wouldn't respond. My eyelids were slowly sliding shut. His face appeared before me, looking smug. In his hand, there were four pills, all of a different size and color. "You've got to tongue them. You never know what they'll do to you."

Heero left my line of vision, and I fell asleep.

Someone was pushing on my shoulder, shaking me. I warily opened my eyes to see Heero standing over me. "Dinner," he said plainly before walking away.

I waited for some of the dizziness to subside before sitting up in bed, my head swimming in a thick cloud of haze and fog. Despite the fact that I was beyond tired, I forced my body to obey and slowly stood up. I was too hungry not to carry myself out into the hallway. Quatre was waiting for me, leaning up against the wall. "I was wondering if you were ever going to leave that room again."

I smiled weakly, pressing my hand against the wall beside me for support. "Those pills… they knocked me out."

"Oh don't worry about them," Quatre said half-heartedly, waving his hand. He walked up to me and grabbed my arm, letting me use him as support. "Just tell your doctor when you talk to him and he'll adjust the dosage."

Somehow, I didn't think it was that simple.

I let Quatre lead me down the hallway and into the common room. Everyone was seated at the small tables along the right wall. I took an empty seat, Quatre settling down in front of me.

"When did you get back, Heero?"

I glanced to my right and realized that Heero had been sitting right next to me. Trowa was in front of him. I suddenly felt like, even if I'd wanted to get out of it, I was going to be stuck hanging around with these guys.

"A few hours ago," he said blandly. An orderly wheeled in a tall cart and opened the door. The mixed smells of food hit me like a ton of bricks. I was starving. He started slowly passing out the plastic trays of food.

"Heero's been in and out of this place for about four years now," Quatre told me, nearly whispering. Heero could obviously hear him, though he didn't seem to mind.

In all honesty, I still wasn't really feeling like myself. I was usually a much more social person. I should have been making comments and joining in the conversation, but at that moment, all I could think about was the tray of food steadily making its way over. The orderly set it down on the table in front of me. I picked up my plastic spoon and started shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth like there was no tomorrow. I barely noticed that everyone else had received their food and started eating. Quatre, though, was merely pushing his food around on his plate.

I was halfway through my meatloaf when a new pile of mashed potatoes appeared on my plate. I glanced up at Quatre, who smiled. "You looked like you needed them."

I raised an eyebrow, starting to feel more like myself. "I think you need them more."

Surprisingly, he chuckled, picking up a tiny shred of meatloaf and putting it in his mouth. He took about five minutes to chew it before finally swallowing. I continued shoveling food inAll but the corn which smelled too much like vomit to be appetizing. I didn't like vegetables, anyway.

When I was finished with my meal, I sat back, feeling vaguely satisfied. It hadn't exactly filled me up, but it certainly had done a world of good to my mood. The clock on the wall said that it was 7:25.

I returned the tray and went back to my room, settling down on the bed to do nothing more than stare at the ceiling.

I'd had the rug pulled out from under my feet. Still drowsy from the pills, I tried to think back, possibly find a point in time when things had snapped. I wasn't a bad kid, you know. Admittedly, I'd stolen things here and there, if only just to survive, but I wasn't one of those juvenile delinquents you're always hearing about. There was just something different about me—something that told me, like a gut feeling, what this world was really about. There's something in this world that can't be explained. It's a feeling of being pulled down. Constantly. Like karma, only it's not returning things to you. It's simply out to get you, to make your life a living hell. Maybe I'm weak for giving in to it, allowing it to ruin my life. But, honestly, I don't feel like fighting it. You can't fight something like that, anyway. It's pure evil. Pure blackness. An Umbra.

Maybe that's why I wear a mask—not a literal mask, mind you. I cover up the scars of my past with a simple, empty smile and simple, empty jokes. It's a strain, I'll tell you that much. The feeling of constantly trying to be something that you know you're not. A permanent contradictory feeling within you that, in the end, does more harm than good. You can keep the mask on, but you know that beneath it, you're a disgusting creature. I'm a disgusting creature. And I hear voices.

I'm not so out of it that I don't know that the voice inside my head isn't real. Keep that in mind. It's just hard not to do what it says when it just won't shut up. And, sometimes, I just snap. I guess I finally snapped for good this time, because I'm here now.


End file.
